


Nocte Angelus

by brokibrodinson



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Archie is the cutest vampire, Blood Drinking, Bush is really gay, M/M, you can't spell success without succ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: A chance encounter ashore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yamibree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamibree/gifts).



> Finally posting some Bush/Archie! (or Bushie as we've been calling it.)
> 
> This is set a few years before Horatio and Bush (and Archie) join the Renown in the show, so Bush is still on the Conqueror. Archie is not in the Navy.
> 
> There's a part 2 as well that I'll post soon if you'd like!
> 
> Enjoy!

A storm is raging.

Bush very much _doesn’t_ want to venture out into the wild weather, but the thought of hot food and a warm bed compels him. He isn’t in port for long – only a few days while the _HMS Conqueror_ is resupplied for her voyage to the West Indies. In the meantime he knows he may as well make the most of his brief stay ashore.

Having reported to the Admiralty, Bush leaves to find the nearest public house. The Crown can usually be relied upon for a night or two, though given the weather that might be a bit optimistic this time around. Otherwise he’ll have to walk a bit further to the King’s Head. Idly Bush wonders where this fixation with royal craniums began, but the thought is soon forgotten as a flash of lightning illuminates the sky, quickly followed by a violent rumble of thunder. Any sailor could tell you that these two elements so close together is a dangerous combination, and for a moment Bush hesitates, questioning the wisdom of leaving the relative safety of a townhouse overhang.

He shakes his head and continues on, pulling his overcoat more tightly around himself an in effort to shield the back of his neck from the icy rain. The sooner he makes it inside the better.

The sun has already set by the time he makes it to The Crown, its dim lantern by the door a beacon in the dark miserable night. Unfortunately they’re full up, but the barmaid takes pity on the half-drowned officer and offers to find him a table so he can at least eat something before continuing on his way.

Bush thanks her gratefully, but the need to find a bed for the night gnaws at him and so he declines. He regrets the decision once back out in the rain, but he knows he’d have regretted it more if he’d had to venture back out after making himself comfortable.

Sighing to himself, Bush goes back out into the street and starts out in the direction of the King’s Head. It’s more expensive, and further as he’d noted before, but on a night like this he’ll take it. Besides, he’s already sent off the rest of his pay to his family back home, so he tries not to feel too bad about spending the remainder on himself.

The thunder crashes around him, the forbidding street lit only by the occasional lamp as he battles through the oppressive sheets of rain and wind with his head ducked to protect his face.

It’s bloody miserable weather, and he says as much to the bartender when he finally makes it to his establishment about twenty minutes later.

The bartender nods sympathetically, eyeing the shivering officer, but Bush is too pragmatic not to know how conducive weather like this is for business. Thankfully they have a room free, as apparently not everyone has struggled here through the elements like he has. The bartender invites him to sit by the fire and warm up with some stew while one of his staff checks that the room is ready for him.

Bush accepts gratefully, suddenly aware of how exhausted he is. After removing his hat and overcoat, he sits at a table by the fire with a low sigh, brushing his drenched hair out of his face, and waits for his food to arrive. The stew is nothing special, just lumps of beef and potato in a thick broth, but to Bush it tastes like heaven and warms him down to his toes. Once he’s finished eating, he relaxes lazily back into his chair to bask in the heat of the fire while he waits for his bed. He’s already half-asleep when he gradually becomes aware that he’s being spoken to.

“...to disturb you, but may I join you? All the other tables are full.” The speaker is a young man, younger than Bush by at least a decade, and possibly even more rain-drenched than Bush was when he first arrived. His blonde hair is stuck to his forehead, half-obscuring blue eyes that watch him hopefully as Bush realises what he’s been asked. He glances around him and finds the youth’s words to be true; the place has filled up with sailors and officers all seeking refuge from the storm. Bush must have been quicker than he thought.

He nods, suppressing a sleepy yawn. “Certainly. I’m about to go anyway.”

Helping himself into a chair, the youth freezes, looking stricken. “Surely not _outside_?” he asks.

Bemused by the strength of his reaction, Bush shakes his head. “To my room,” he clarifies. “They are preparing it for me.”

“Oh,” says the younger man, looking relieved. “They’re probably taking a while because of all the other people.”

He speaks very precisely, Bush notes with mild interest. He is not wearing a uniform, but he must be a wealthy merchant’s son or something to have an accent like that.

“Archie Kennedy,” the man introduces himself, offering his hand. “Thank you for sharing your table.”

“William Bush,” Bush replies, shaking his hand. It’s cold, but then he has just come out of the icy wind.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bush,” says Archie cheerfully, taking his hand back and using it to brush wet strands of hair out of his eyes. “Horrible weather isn’t it.”

Bush nods in agreement. “I had forgotten storms like this weren’t limited to the ocean,” he admits. Something about Archie puts him at ease, despite having only just met the man.

Archie laughs, the sound musical. “I can bear witness to that! Just last week it rained so hard I heard the baker’s shop flooded.” He makes a face, his nose scrunched up in a way Bush can’t help finding rather endearing. “Imagine all that wet bread.”

Bush can’t help chuckling at that, and a comfortable sense of warm companionship grows between them. They continue to talk, Archie asking about Bush’s life in the Navy and about his family while he tells Bush about his own. He has three siblings too, Bush discovers, and he’s glad that they seem a tight-knit family like the Bushes are. Too often has Bush met people who’ve come from an unhappy childhood. His family have never been wealthy, and often times have been hard, but he’s been fortunate to have had a warm home to return to when not at sea.

Soon Archie orders himself some warming honeyed mead from the bar, even convincing Bush to try the heady brew despite Bush insisting he only drinks ale. Soon he finds himself even more relaxed and warmed all the way through, smiling unconsciously at Archie as the jovial younger man recounts an anecdote about his older brother.

Despite having dried off considerably since sitting down, Archie still looks very pale, Bush notes dimly. Without the sheen of rain on his skin, he can observe Archie’s features more clearly, and he likes what he sees. Archie is an uncommonly beautiful young man, with eyes that gleam dark blue in the firelight and skin that looks smooth as silk. He is not at all feminine looking, but Bush can’t deny that there’s some kind of otherworldly prettiness about his features, perhaps from his long eyelashes and elegantly high cheekbones.

Realising belatedly that he’s all but ogling his companion, Bush forces himself to stop, concentrating instead on Archie’s words and the mead in front of them. He hopes Archie hasn’t noticed his inspection.

Archie tilts his head, eyeing him curiously. “Forgive me, Mister Bush,” he says after a moment. “You must be exhausted. Do you want to retire?”

“Not really,” Bush blurts out without thinking. He’s not ready to part with the alluring young man just yet, no matter how tired he feels. He notes that his bones _do_ feel rather heavy, and he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to make it up the stairs if he waits much longer, but if he goes he might never see Archie again.

“Are you staying here too?” he asks Archie. Perhaps he could arrange to see him in the morning for breakfast.

Archie shakes his head ruefully. “I’m afraid not,” he replies. “All the rooms are already taken.”

Just as Archie had earlier, Bush looks out the window and back with an aghast expression. The storm has not relented in the least; Archie is certain to get sick wandering around in rain like that.

Archie chuckles at his face. “It’s all right, Mister Bush,” he reassures him. “I’ll manage.”

“Absolutely not,” Bush says firmly, using a note of his commanding officer’s voice to reinforce the point. “You can share with me. Look at this way,” he adds when Archie opens his mouth to protest. “I’ll sleep much better knowing you’re under a roof, so you’ll be doing me a favour.”

Archie’s mouth is set stubbornly, but relents after a moment. “All right, but I’m going to pay for both us,” he insists. “It’s the least I can do.”

Bush is too tired to argue further at this point, so he concedes. Perhaps he can pay for breakfast to make it up to him.

He stands, a little shaky on his feet, but managing to stay upright nonetheless. He catches the eye of a barmaid who approaches them at once to confirm his room is ready for him and tells him the number.

Rather embarrassingly, Archie has to assist him up the steep staircase so he doesn’t topple down and break something, but the young man doesn’t make a fuss, just offers him his arm to hold onto with a small smile.

The room is small and economical, containing only a single cot and a small dresser for stowing belongings. Bush is used to much worse while at sea and is about to offer to sleep on the floor when Archie turns to him with a bright smile and says, “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

“All right,” Bush agrees without thinking. It’s only once he’s stripped off to his undershirt and trousers that he realises his mistake. The cot is only just barely wide enough to contain two men, and even then only if they lie _very_ close. Again, it’s no worse than anything he’s experienced in the Navy, except of course that Archie is practically the mortal reincarnation of Eros himself. His tiredness forgotten, Bush wonders how on earth he’ll fall asleep like this.

Archie seems to have no such compunctions, unselfconsciously disrobing down to just his drawers and slipping under the covers with a small blissful sigh.

Despite all his intentions to give Archie his privacy, Bush can’t help peeking before his view is obscured by the bedding, and his mouth grows dry at the sight of immaculate pale skin over toned back muscles and broad shoulders, golden hair spilling down the back of a neck that looks carved from marble.

Cursing his damned curiosity, Bush averts his gaze and carefully climbs into the bed next to Archie, wary of accidentally touching him. He’s no stranger to love between men, and is familiar and accepting of his own desires, but he has no wish to impose any discomfort on the other man.

Unfortunately Archie has turned on his side to watch him, his mouth twitching with amusement. His eyes seem to glow in the dim light, almost like a cat’s. “Come on,” he encourages him. “You’ll catch cold.”

“Right,” Bush mutters, and burrows under the covers, pulling them almost defensively around himself. The pillow is soft under his head, the blankets only a little bit scratchy, and he closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep. “Good night, Mister Kennedy.”

He can feel Archie observing him a little while longer before the other man exhales softly and turns back onto his stomach, tugging a little on his side of the blanket. “Good night, Mister Bush.”

 

After lying awake for at least an hour, Bush’s tiredness soon kicks in and he manages to fall asleep.

Something wakes him up again mere hours later and he silently curses as he slowly opens his eyes, stretching out an arm to try and relieve the stiffness that’s developed in his elbow.

He remembers why he was so curled in on himself when his fingers accidentally graze the cool skin of another living being. Damn. He’d forgotten about Archie.

Quietly rolling onto his side, careful not the jostle the thin mattress, Bush looks over at the younger man.

And finds him looking back.

“Why are you still awake?” Bush yawns, stretching in the other direction this time.

“I don’t sleep much,” Archie admits, his gaze trained squarely on Bush with an expression that looks almost like hunger. He blinks, and the look is replaced with concern. “It’s early. You should try and go back to sleep, Mister Bush.”

“Probably can’t now,” Bush grumbles, wriggling a little under the covers. He remembers the brief contact with Archie’s skin and gives him a puzzled look, noting how Archie hasn’t completely covered his torso with the blanket. In comparison Bush has pulled his half up to his chin. “Aren’t you cold?”

Archie smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Not really.” He stretches lazily, the motion making Bush’s pulse jump, and props his head up on an elbow. “Since you’re awake,” he begins, his eyes intent on Bush again. “May I try something?”

Feeling suddenly apprehensive, Bush nonetheless nods. Something about Archie compels him to trust him, even if certain quirks of his are a bit strange. He catches only a brief flash of Archie’s answering grin before the other man is leaning in and kissing him, his lips soft against his.

Bush’s breath catches in shock and astonishment, and Archie takes the opportunity to kiss him deeper, coaxing a confused groan from the officer. Archie’s lips are surprisingly cool but his mouth is hot, making for an oddly contrasting combination that nonetheless soon has Bush _moaning_.

He hasn’t kissed anyone for _ages_ , he’d almost thought he’d forgotten how, but with only a little encouragement from Archie and his wicked, _wicked_ tongue, Bush is soon kissing back with hungry desperation, one hand on the back of his neck to urge him closer, _deeper, more._

Before he knows it their bodies are flush and moving together under the sheets. Archie’s skin is still strangely cool to the touch, but Bush soon adjusts, forgetting all about it as his own body grows hotter and hotter.

With a swift movement, Bush finds himself on his back, pinned to the bed under Archie’s weight with his wrists trapped in a firm unshakeable grip. He looks up, panting, exceedingly aroused, and finds Archie wearing an expression he can only describe as _ravenous_ , his eyes so black he can’t see any of their customary blue within the dark.

“Forgive me, William,” Archie rasps, lowering his head as though to kiss him again, and then suddenly _pain_ , sharp incisions like knives in the tender skin of his throat, before pleasure bleeds outwards like a rose blooming from brambles in the sun.

Bush’s back arches off the bed as a low distressed keen erupts from his throat, his body struggling to comprehend the twin sensations of pleasure and pain. He feels his own hot blood spilling from the wound in his neck and dripping down his skin in little rivulets, only to be caught by a slick, hungry tongue.

Archie is _drinking_ it, Bush realises in shock, knowing he should be revolted or at least _terrified_ , but he isn’t. If anything, he’s helplessly turned on, his body squirming within the prison of Archie’s thighs as he feels his lifeblood being drained into that wet, voracious mouth.

Realising that his prey isn’t attempting to free himself, Archie raises his body just a little, allowing Bush enough room to rut desperately against him, even as he sees his vision blurring around the edges. Eventually he even releases one of Bush’s wrists, lowering his hand to slide it into Bush’s drawers and stroke him to completion with a strong, rapidly heating hand.

Bush soon comes with a hoarse, almost feeble cry, the fleeting notion running through his mind that he’s content to die here with this beautiful youth above him drinking his life away. It’s his last thought before he blacks out completely.

 

When he wakes up again, he’s propped up in bed with a pillow behind him and the blankets tucked securely around his body. Opening his eyes, he finds Archie sitting at the foot of the bed looking anxious, a covered tray next to him.

Immediately his hand flies to his throat, checking the damage.

Archie shakes his head with a mirthless little chuckle. “You’ll find no wound there, Mister Bush,” he says as Bush tentatively touches his unmarred skin. “I healed you. It was the least I could do,” he adds a little guiltily.

“What happened?” Bush asks blearily.

“I’m so sorry,” Archie says, expression anguished now as he stands up to pace the tiny room. “I was just so _hungry_! I hadn’t planned to bite you, I swear!”

“Wait,” Bush says, his mind clearing a bit more as he steadily wakes up. “Did you... I mean... are you..?” He doesn’t want to actually say the word, knowing how absurd it sounds, even given recent events.

“A vampire?” Archie supplies. “Yes. But please, please don’t tell anyone all right? I’m going to be in so much trouble already!”

Bush frowns at the thought of Archie being in trouble. “Why?”

Archie bites his lip; his cheeks have a much healthier flush to them now, Bush notes idly. “We’re not supposed to leave any witnesses,” he says. “I’m supposed to have either have knocked you unconscious or killed you – I would never have done that!” he exclaims as Bush’s eyes widen.

Remembering the fairytales of his youth, Bush asks hesitantly, “Does this mean... I’m the same as you now?”

Archie shakes his head firmly. “No, I would never have changed you without permission,” he replies.

“All right,” Bush says calmly, his fears allayed. He _feels_ fine, if a little tired, and he’s got no permanent injury or change done to him if Archie’s words are true. He nods at the tray near Archie. “Is that food?”

Archie glances at the tray, startled by the change of subject. He’d expected a much stronger reaction than this. “Oh yes,” he says, remembering. “I ordered you some roast lamb, I hope that’s all right? I took more blood than I meant to,” he explains, looking shamefaced. “You’ll need the meat.”

“ _Roast_?” Now it’s Bush’s turn to be startled. Usually he only gets roast on special occasions. His mouth waters as Archie lifts the tray cover and brings it over to him.

“I think you should stay in bed until you eat,” says Archie apologetically. “Just so you’re not dizzy.”

Bush nods; he doesn’t care. “Thank you, Mister Kennedy,” he says, accepting the knife and fork Archie hands him.

The young... vampire? laughs a little in disbelief. “Please call me Archie,” he requests. “Given... you know. Everything.”

Bush blushes, remembering what _else_ had gone on last night. No wonder Archie is so _gorgeous_ , he realises belatedly. He’s _supernatural_.

“Archie,” he repeats obediently, then smiles. “Thank you.”

Archie’s cheeks turn rosy with stolen blood as he too blushes bashfully. “My pleasure, William.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2.
> 
> The structure of the Kennedy family has been indulgently fleshed out in my RPs so that's why... well why it's like that. You should see Archie's siblings.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The _HMS Conqueror_ is ready to sail the next day. Archie looks sad to see him go, but Bush promises to call on him the next time he’s in London. He too feels a pang of separation as he leaves the inn and Archie’s company, but he stubbornly reminds himself of his duty to his captain and his ship.

He’s at sea for six months. In that time the _Conqueror_ sees action against the Frogs, helps break up a naval blockade and escorts a merchant convoy from Kingston back to Portsmouth.

Bush does everything a third lieutenant ought to, but at night in his berth his dreams are filled with images of sharp teeth, enchanting blue eyes, and a sea of his own blood.

He wakes up uncomfortably hard each time.

At last he’s back in England and on leave. Dutifully he returns to his family in Chichester to see his family and deliver his pay in person. His mother and sisters are gratifyingly delighted to see him alive and well, as always, but they can tell his mind is elsewhere.

“William,” his mother draws him aside one evening. “You know I love having you home, but if there’s something else calling you, I don’t want to keep you.”

He smiles guiltily, looking down. “Sorry. There’s just... someone I want to see.”

His mother looks delighted. “Will! You have a _someone_?”

“Perhaps,” Bush answers evasively. It’s not that Archie’s a man; his family wouldn’t care about that. It’s his more supernatural traits that make him wary of elaborating too much.  
Besides, they have made no promise to each other, other than an invitation to visit.

His mother smiles at him and pats his cheek fondly. “Well then, we must send you to them immediately. Tomorrow morning?”

Bush nods, grateful his mother hasn’t pressed for details. “I’ll return here when I can,” he promises.

Mrs Bush smiles. “I know you will.”

His sisters are sad to see him go the next day, until Mrs Bush lets slip that he may or may not have a secret beau. Then they’re all wicked grins and laughing encouragement, much to his chagrin.

It’s almost a relief to leave.

 

The carriage ride to London feels endless. Archie had given him address, written neatly on a scrap of paper that Bush has looked at so many times he’s memorised it. Once the countryside gives way to the urban sprawl of the capital he feels his nerves pick up. It’s been so long, what if Archie’s forgotten all about him? Or has found another mortal to bewitch with his pretty eyes and perfect diction? Or... or...

His thoughts stutter to a halt as the carriage stops. “We’ve arrived, Sir,” the driver informs him.

Bush thanks him and hands him his payment, then takes his small case of belongings and walks hesitantly towards the imposing manor in front of him.

It’s _huge_.

Just taking in the breadth of it is making Bush think he should turn around and leave, that he doesn’t belong here, that he has made a mistake.

Still, this might be his only chance to see Archie again. The thought makes him set his jaw and walk right up to the front door, knocking with confidence he doesn’t feel.

A footman in livery opens the door and looks at him. Bush wonders if he’s a vampire too. “...Yes?” he asks patiently.

“I’ve been invited by Archie Kennedy?” Bush replies, almost plaintive.

“Your name?” the servant asks disinterestedly.

“William Bush.”

The door shuts again.

When it opens about a minute later, Archie is standing there, a huge grin on his face. “William!” he exclaims delightedly. “You came!”

“Of course,” Bush replies, a shy smile of his own creeping onto his face. “I promised I would, didn’t I?”

He’s ushered inside only to find himself enfolded in a tight embrace that makes his heart thump in his chest as he hesitantly returns the hug.

Archie releases him and gives him a broad grin, holding him at arms’ length to look him over. “Have you been at sea this whole time?” he asks. “I think I saw your ship mentioned a few times in the _Naval Chronicle_.”

Bush nods. “Six months in total,” he responds distractedly. He’s looking around the foyer, intimidated and awed by its grandeur. “As far as Jamaica.”

Archie sees him looking and smiles ruefully. “I’ll give you the tour,” he says, taking one of Bush’s hands in his own cool one. “Come on.”

Tugged along behind the shorter man, Bush strives to keep his face impassive, not wanting to gawp, but he can’t help his eyes widening as they take in the main hall and its grand staircase; the fine furniture and artworks, the various artefacts and curiosities. It’s part gallery, part museum, part home, he thinks.

Archie is a good tour guide, and stops to tell Bush about the objects he sees him looking at. He seems pleased by his interest rather than scornful of his ignorance, but eventually hurries them on so they can make it through to his favourite rooms. The library is particularly impressive, as is the ballroom. In the drawing room they encounter an elegant lady with a book in her hand, her rose-pink skirts arranged artfully around herself. She puts down the book and rises with a warm smile on her face when she sees Archie and Bush.

“This is Lady Lilias Kennedy,” Archie introduces her. “My mother.”

“And you must be Mister Bush,” Lilias says, her Scottish lilt musical as she approaches. “Archie said you might visit.”

Bush bows politely. “It was kind of Mister Kennedy to invite me,” he replies. He’s never met a woman of such grace before. He feels very much out of his depth, and figures it’s safest to retreat to his Navy-bred formality.

Lilias laughs and gives him her hand to kiss. It’s lukewarm, not unlike Archie’s. Then again, Archie had implied that the rest of his family were vampires as well the last time they’d seen each other. Bush trusts Archie, but he does wonder if walking into the den of supernatural creatures was an entirely safe decision.

As if sensing Bush’s slight unease, Lilias smiles sweetly at him and he immediately relaxes. “Wasn’t Archie lucky to find you,” she comments, directing a brief look of mischief over Bush’s shoulder to her son.

Archie blushes and starts to draw Bush out of the room, but not before Lilias extracts a promise from Bush to see him at dinner.

“Do you... eat?” Bush asks hesitantly, as they continue down the corridor.

Archie smiles. “Sometimes. We will tonight. Otherwise you might feel odd eating alone. My siblings are all at their own homes at the moment, so it will probably just be my parents joining us. And Uncle Gabe of course.”

Finally they’re in what must be Archie’s own bedroom. Bush wonders if he should be uncomfortable with the intimacy of it, but Archie doesn’t seem bothered, so he makes himself relax as he joins him in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window. “Your father’s brother?” he guesses.

Archie looks bewildered. “What? _Oh_. Well he’s not really my uncle, you see. He was my father’s gillie. And now...” he trails off, looking unsure for the first time. “You have to understand, my family isn’t what you could call ‘traditional.’”

“All right,” Bush replies, nonplussed. Then he adds, “You mean apart from being vampires?”

Archie grins briefly, teeth flashing white. Bush’s pulse quickens, remembering how it felt to have those sinking into the flesh of his throat. “Yes, apart from that. My father and Gabriel are lovers.”

“I see.” Bush pauses to take this in. “And... does your mother...-”

“She knows,” Archie answers brightly. “In fact she sort of made it happen.”

“...Right.” Bush says, even more confused.

Archie shakes his head. “I’ll tell you the story later. I want to know what _you’ve_ been up to!”

So Bush tells him. They talk for what must be hours, until Bush feels like he and Archie have known each other for years. Before long he’s making dry comments about his shipmates and fellow officers; something he’d dare not do with most people; and is gratified to make Archie giggle with surprised delight every time he does so.

“I _like_ you, William,” Archie says finally, eyes still bright with mirth as he looks intently at Bush.

Bush flushes, flattered. “Thank you. I quite like you too.”

They smile at each other shyly, and then Archie is slowly leaning in, Bush copying him to meet halfway. The kiss is sweet, tentative. Archie’s palm is gentle against Bush’s cheek as he encourages it to deepen, Bush willingly parting his lips for Archie to explore.

They draw back to breathe, smiling happily at each other again. Bush’s whole face feels warm and he imagines he’s gone quite pink. Confirming his guess, Archie touches his cheek with his cool fingers and laughs. “You’re all flushed, William.”

In contrast Archie is perfectly pale as always, skin like porcelain. Bush dares to reach out and touch his cheek in return and is rewarded by Archie closing his eyes and inhaling a small breath. “You... smell good,” he admits quietly.

Bush’s heart skips a beat.

He _wants_ Archie to sink those lovely sharp fangs into his flesh again. He wants to feel his hot blood run down his skin and lapped up by that beautiful thirsty mouth. He wants...

But Archie just gives him a guilty look and then averts his gaze, presumably taking his silence for rejection or disgust or fear. “Sorry. That just slipped out.”

Bush shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he says earnestly. “To tell you the truth...” He swallows nervously, eager to reassure Archie but afraid to reveal his own secret sordid lusts. “I... haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he says finally. “All of you. What you did last time... When you bit me. Drank from me. I... liked it,” he admits softly, looking down at the richly carpeted floor.

“William...” Archie murmurs, voice strained. “William, look at me.”

Bush does. Archie’s pupils are dilated, his eyes dark and hungry in a way that Bush thinks might have been frightening on anyone else, but on Archie he finds the expression helplessly thrilling. The vampire licks his licks nervously, blinking a couple of times to control the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want to frighten you away,” he says, looking hesitant. “What if I hurt you?”

“Then you can heal me again,” Bush answers reasonably. “I’m not afraid of you, Archie.” He offers him his hand.

Archie looks at it, then after a moment’s hesitation, takes in his own hand, gently turning it so he can brush curious fingertips along the veins in his wrist. “You...” he begins, voice rough as he struggles to keep control. “You want me to...?”

“ _God_ , yes,” Bush replies emphatically, the pale blue shade of his eyes making his dilated pupils all the more obvious as he watches Archie’s fingers move across the delicate skin of his wrist.

Archie glances at him, then grins; Bush catches a glimpse of sharp, gleaming teeth just before they slice deeply into his skin.

He groans, his back arching as the initial pain gives way to delicious savage pleasure, his free hand clinging desperately to his armrest as he gives himself over to Archie’s appetite.

Despite holding his hand hostage in his iron grip, Archie otherwise handles him delicately, clearly savouring every drop of this gift Bush has so willingly given. He sucks contentedly at Bush’s wrist, adjusting the angle every so often, his eyes closed in obvious bliss.

Bush is less restrained. He doesn’t want to distract Archie, and strives to keep his arm still, but he can’t seem to stop the rest of him from squirming in his seat, erection near painful as it strains against his trousers. A detached part of his mind wonders if he could reach climax just from the sight and feeling of Archie’s mouth against his skin, teeth in his flesh, lips stained with his blood.

He thinks he could.

All too soon Archie pulls away, but not before licking a soothing wet stripe across the bitten flesh. Before their very eyes, Bush’s skin knits itself back together, any residual pain fading into nothing. Bush watches with wide eyes as Archie brushes his lips across the spot in a tender kiss, and then releases his hand.

“Thank you, William,” Archie sighs, licking his lips clean and sinking back into his chair with a satisfied smile. Then his gaze sharpens as he properly takes in the sight of Bush.

The lieutenant is _panting_ , clearly aroused as he rubs himself through his trousers, forehead shiny with perspiration. “Archie...” he manages to moan, eyes half-closed as he thrusts up against his hand.

“Oh, look at _you_ ,” Archie whispers, seemingly awed by _how_ stimulated Bush is from just a bite on the wrist. He stands, and in one smooth predatory movement, slides into Bush’s lap so he can kiss him ravenously, the taste of the human’s blood shared between their tongues. Bush shamelessly chases the flavour, intoxicated by it, his fingers happily tangled in Archie’s golden locks.

As though sensing his increasing desperation, Archie stands again – not breaking the kiss – and hoists Bush’s frame into his arms to carry him over to the bed. Bush groans against his mouth at the loss of Archie’s body but he’s soon mollified as his back collides with the softness of the bedspread, his brain catching up and reminding him of the significance of this particular piece of furniture.

To his relief, his clothes are swiftly stripped from him and then Archie – equally and gloriously bare – is on him again, kissing him as they rut gracelessly against each other.

“William...” Bush becomes aware that Archie is speaking in between kisses, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as Bush feels. “William, I need you to hold on a bit longer.” Then two knees are locked around his hips and holding him down so he can’t thrust up against that gorgeous body anymore, and no amount of squirming or whining move Archie to release him. He forces himself to focus, and he’s glad he does when he sees Archie has stopped to slip three fingers into himself, his breaths coming in sharp pants as he does so.

“ _Christ_ , Archie,” Bush murmurs, enchanted by the sight, of Archie’s strong youthful body held tense, muscles taut as he works himself open. “ _Please_.”

Archie smirks at him, eyes gleaming with lust, and releases Bush from the prison of his legs, bracing himself against Bush’s shoulders as he finally, _finally_ impales himself on his cock.

They exhale in tandem, waiting a moment to adjust, and then Archie is riding him _hard_ , his body tight and so deliciously sweet around Bush that he knows without a doubt that he is not going to last.

All he can do is hold onto Archie’s broad back for dear life, feverishly muttering the vampire’s name over and over, accompanied by various curses. He cries out wordlessly as he comes, his whole body shuddering with relief. Archie lasts a while longer, riding him through it until Bush feels his whole body tense around him, stifling a gasp of ecstasy against Bush’s collarbone.

They lie still for a while, waiting to catch their breath. Archie moves to lie next to Bush, tucking his face into his neck with a contented sound, his eyes closed. A little fanged angel, Bush thinks adoringly, brushing his blonde hair back out of his face and kissing his forehead. Fortune was truly on his side the night Archie approached his table.

 

As evening falls, they’re called down for dinner. Once they’re decent again, Archie links his arm through Bush’s and leads him through the corridor to the parlour to meet his father, and his father’s lover.

Lord Stephen Kennedy is a tall man, taller than Archie and similarly broad, with blonde hair touched with silver and sharp blue eyes. He’s immaculately dressed, with a walking cane in his hand that’s topped with the head of a silver lion. As Bush is introduced to him, he has the sense that he is meeting a being who has been alive a long, long time. He’d felt something similar when meeting Lilias, but Stephen has a greater air of coiled danger about him that sends a shiver down Bush’s spine.

At Stephen’s side is another man, not as obviously handsome as the lord’s refined golden beauty, but no less intense. He has an exotic otherworldliness about him, with his high cheekbones, lush mouth and dark fathomless gaze, that Bush wonders if he isn’t even more intimidating than Stephen.

Archie had told him their story as they lay entwined on the vampire’s bed, limbs all tangled. Stephen had originally hired Gabriel as his gillie for the Kennedy Estate in Ross, Scotland, having encountered the hungry Dane looking for work in town. Over time their attraction to each other had grown, to the point where they were helplessly pining for one another, but unwilling to compromise Stephen’s happy marriage to Lilias. Lilias had caught on of course, and given them her blessing, after all she was perfectly capable of keeping herself entertained. Lilias loved Gabriel too, Archie had explained, though not in the same way as Stephen of course, and she was delighted with how happy the two men made each other, even encouraging Stephen to turn the mortal man so they could keep him with them forever.

He is no longer their gillie now but Stephen’s companion, and just as much a Kennedy as the rest of the family.

As the introductions are made, Bush bows politely to Stephen, then Gabriel, who surprises him by offering his hand to shake with a crooked smile of surprising warmth.

“It is lovely to meet a friend of little Archie’s,” he comments, his foreign accent still very much present. He turns his smile on Archie. “I hope you are being kind to him, _min_ _kære_.”

Archie flushes and shifts slightly next to Bush, bashful. Bush wonders if he’s never brought anyone home before. The thought makes him bold.

“He has spoiled me terribly, Sir,” he responds, deadpan. “I may well have to desert the Service.”

Gabriel and Lilias laugh, delighted, Archie giggling as he elbows Bush in the side. Even Stephen smiles, cocking his head to eye Bush more keenly. “Archie told us the circumstances in which you met. You have told no one about us, I trust?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing, “Such loyalty is rare in mortals. You are welcome here, Mister Bush.”

Bush stares at him, awed and lost for words. He senses he’s been given an invitation not often extended, much less to ‘mortals’ such as him.

Thankfully he isn’t required to respond, as just then the bell rings to summon them to the dining room. The table is smaller than the grand one that had been in here earlier; more appropriate for the number present. Stephen sits at the head with Lilias opposite him, Gabriel to his right. Bush sits next to Gabriel, across from Archie.

He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, being invited to dine with vampires, but their meal is surprisingly normal. Delicious, but normal. There are no silver goblets of blood, no severed body parts or organs. They are served roast duck in dark flavoursome gravy, followed by rich trifle, sweet with sherry. Their conversation is quite ordinary too, Bush is amused to find, as Stephen and Lilias bicker amicably over cuff lengths, ribbed on by Gabriel who, Bush is quickly discovering, has quite a mischievous streak.

Archie catches his eye across the table and shrugs, grinning. Bush smiles back, replete with luxurious food and beautiful, immortal company. He’d been nervous at the start of the meal, but now he feels perfectly content, blissful, almost dreamlike.

It’s perfect.

After dinner, and after another drink or two, Archie finally drags an exhausted, dizzily happy Bush up to bed, undressing him tenderly and pulling the covers over him before snuggling into his side with a happy sigh.

“They love you,” he informs Bush in a low murmur, kissing his forehead. “I knew they would.”

Bush grins at him, delighted by this information. “Archie,” he begins happily.

“Yes, love?” Archie replies indulgently, clearly amused by his mildly drunken state.

“I think...” says Bush slowly, concentrating hard on his words, “that I would very much like to stay.”

Archie smiles, stroking his cheek. “Then stay,” he says simply, voice impossibly soft.

He does.


End file.
